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Magic

The sun sat sullen, sapped, its rays collapsed, inert,
Before the day had risen,
Shrouded still by Dark receding,
And leaden morning mist,
That drank the day’s bright lit intent.
The torpid line along the bridge below
A sullen dew soaked listless throng
Impelled to Urban setting,
Grim morning march,
Constrained cortege to mornings funerary beat.
Grey torpid vectors,
Mass, miasmic bulk constrained
To keep the throng in motion,
And draw its motive force within,
Bright artificial gleam
That sought to light the day
And keep, for now, the Dark at bay.
Bags and boxes, smart devices,
Structures small and large,
Confined, defined for some the day.
Yet grass would grow,
Trees planned and not, stretched up and out to reach
And touch the sky,
Drink deep of Dark and Light.
And in their trembling roots
The magic massed,
In sewer pipes it coursed,
In power lines it leaped and bounded,
From sockets on and off it arced,
The lights in streets and window pane
Fizzed and sparked and shadows cast
That leaped with life imbued
Inked in nook and cranny
In stone and blood and bone
And from the corner of an eye twitched peeping
In the strident discord of street soul raging
As stream of people parted passed him by,
It spilled by rage ignited,
The light confined within combusting;
in glance that flicked and jumped without connecting
Soul socket unconnected, no adapter,
And in the ordinary everyday dawn that stumbled forth,
Somnolent suffused with common sense and task ahead,
Magic fizzed and popped and coursed and flowed,
In the Thunder of the City free,
A rhythm resonating at random,
Not bound by any numbing pattern,
And here, and there,
A place remembered, not visited before,
A strangers face familiar passed a passer by,
A prickling at the nape of neck
And creatures crowding at the corner of the eye;
Magic, massive, arcane amped,
It flowed and pumped
Expression sought;
In a cafe words began to flow,
A small cramped room the script began to form,
A basement medley began to jam,
Oases in the Urban desert,
At the Altar all.